One night during the trip we were startled awake by the voice of an announcer booming off the mountain sides up and down the canyon. Apparently there was some kind of race (with a very early start time) being held down on the road by the reservoir. The announcer kept on reading off raffle ticket numbers, reminders of race rules, and a seemingly never ending countdown to the start of the race. I was tired, cranky, worried that he would wake up the kids, and cursing the people who would need to have their raffle number announced more than once. But mostly I was furious with the announcer and the race organizers for waking me up. I would drift back off to sleep just to be jerked awake again by the announcer repeating a raffle ticket that someone still hadn't claimed. At one point I dreamed that I stormed over to the stage, grabbed the mic stand and hit the announcer over the head with it. Hard.
Only in the morning (the proper, reasonable morning) did I learn the identity of the announcer. It was the "voice of the Cougars" Greg Wrubell, the man who all BYU sports fans loved. Well not me. To me his name is Mud. (Joking, not joking.)
Beautiful sister and handsome nephew.
Charlie and Grant carried large rocks around. Not sure why...
Swinging in the hammock.
It was a truly wonderful week.